


Queen of Winter

by redcandle17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor enjoys the Queen of Winter's warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Winter

The "Queen of Winter" was among her titles, but some lord's fool had called her the Ice Queen and nobles and smallfolk alike repeated the slur. Supposedly it referred to the cold courtesy with which she treated petitioners and guests, but Sandor had overheard enough lordlings jesting in their cups to know they called her that because they couldn't get in her smallclothes. She had refused all suitors for her hand and spurned all attempts to bed her for sport.

"You're quiet tonight," she observed. She took a sip of her wine and cut another portion of chicken.

"Might be I've run out of things to say to you."

"I thought you'd last the winter surely," she teased back.

When this long winter ended and summer finally came, things would return to the way they should be. Sansa would marry to cement an alliance with some neighbor and produce an heir. There would be more people around then and his presence in her bedchamber when he was supposed to be standing guard outside would not go overlooked. She was his only for the winter. Sandor rose from the table and yanked her arm, jerking her towards the bed.

"I'm not finished eating," she protested.

"You can go back to your meal when we're done." Sandor scooped her up and carried her across the room. She bounced when he dropped her on the soft featherbed, and rolled away. Sandor easily dragged her back to him. He unlaced her gown, resisting the impulse to tear it only because he knew she had too few nice dresses. She held still, perhaps afraid he might injure her precious velvet gown, but once he'd gotten her out of it, she renewed her struggle.

"I'm hungry."

"So am I." He nipped the tip of one perfect teat.

"I mean it!"

He cupped her arse, holding her tight against him so she could feel his stiff cock pressing into her belly. She was so warm. He slid a finger inside her cunt. Hot. The light from the fire had put more red in her auburn hair and cast a golden glow on her skin, making her look like she'd stepped out of the flames. Only fools would even joke that she was made of ice.

Her touch was like fire too when she cupped his face in her hands. It seared him, marked him as deeply – if invisibly – as the hot coals that had scarred half his face. He started to kiss her, but she spoke. "You're still clothed."

Sandor had preferred to keep his clothes on, but early on Sansa had let him know that, in her words, "it wasn't fair." So now he hurriedly removed his tunic, breeches, and boots. "Your socks," she reminded him, and he pulled those off too.

She liked to touch the scars on his body. Usually ever so softly with her fingertips, but once with her tongue. That had been a memorable night. She started with the scar on his thigh tonight, tracing the ugly mark over and over, her hand so close to his cock. "It pains you still, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. The Elder Brother had healed the wound almost as good as new. It hurt occasionally when he was very tired, but where he'd once feared he was lame, he could move as well as ever. And instead of the kind of gratitude the older man wanted, instead of resigning himself to a life of penance and prayer, Sandor had turned the Elder Brother's logic on him, claiming the miracle was proof that the gods didn't mean for him to waste his life on the Quiet Isle. He didn't like thinking about it, and Sansa made it easy to put out of his mind. She kissed the scar.

He held his breath, hoping she would move up. She did. Sandor groaned in relief and in torment as her hot, wet mouth closed around his cock. He looked down at her and would have laughed if he could. Somehow she made what she was doing look practically dainty. He hadn't known a woman could be ladylike when sucking cock, but Sansa was.

"Enough. On your hands and knees."

She obeyed, though not happily. She didn't like this position. Sandor couldn't imagine why but she preferred to look at his ugly face while he fucked her. Usually he indulged her, but not tonight. He stroked the lips of her cunt. She was dripping wet. The Queen of Winter was melting. Smiling at the thought, he eased his cock into her. She made those little sounds she always did. He used to worry he was hurting her, but no more; if he was, she liked it.

He smoothed his hands over the curve of her arse and the plane of her back, enjoying the sensation of being fully sheathed inside her. She looked at him over her shoulder, impatient. Sandor stared back at her, waiting to hear if she'd say it. She didn't say _fuck me_. She gave him a mournful look and sniffed, "My dinner's getting cold."

Sandor laughed and leaned to kiss her before beginning to fuck her. Slowly at first, until she was whimpering for him to go faster. He was an obedient dog when it counted; he gave his queen what she wanted. He waited until she was sated and too weary for more before he allowed himself his release. He appreciated that she drank moon tea so he wouldn't have to withdraw and spill his seed outside her. It was better this way.

He curled around her and nuzzled her neck. He considered teasing her about her cold dinner, but he didn't want to risk her getting up to finish the damned meal. So he said nothing. She said nothing either, just hummed one of those love songs she liked. When the last ember in the fireplace went out, Sandor didn't get out of bed to rekindle it; between the warmth of the chamber and Sansa's heat, there was no need for a fire.


End file.
